


063 - Panic Attack

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert, mental health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 04:19:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17460518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “it’d be like real nice to have a vanfic where he sorta calms you down again [after a panic attack] or is just there with you holding your hand while you go through the motions of it ¿?”





	063 - Panic Attack

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This fic involves an anxiety attack. This may be triggering for some readers, so please read at your discretion.

You had briefly mentioned the panic attacks a few times to Van. The more serious the relationship got, the more important it was for him to understand. You knew that you should have probably sat down and taken the time to explain it all, and to give him a general guide for how to help you if you had an attack around him. You didn't though, and in the end he had to self-teach while you went non-verbal on the kitchen floor.

You were sitting at the kitchen table finishing up an assignment for uni. You had to present a short talk to one of your classes, and you were terrified. What if you stuttered over the words? What if your face went all red? What if you started to sweat? What if you couldn't form the right words because your mouth would go all dry? What if someone had a question you couldn't answer? What if they started to laugh while you were presenting? What if you failed miserably and you got a zero for the course and therefore failed the semester and your GPA dropped and you'd lose your scholarship and have to leave uni and get some boring desk job and suffer for the rest of eternity knowing how much of a failure you were?

The thoughts snowballed and soon you were breathing too fast and too loudly. Van was in the lounge room and called in, "Babe what are you doing? Why are you breathing like that?" When you didn't answer he appeared in the doorway. "Babe?" He pulled up a chair next to you. Your hands were still at the laptop keyboard, and you were still staring straight at it. He slowly moved your hands into your lap. He paused momentarily when you flinched at his touch. He kept going though. He gently pulled your head to face him using his thumb and index finger. He tried to read your expression, but your face was blank. "Baby, what's happening?" You could hear the panic in his voice. You didn't reply.

He got up and filled a glass with water. You couldn't lift your hand to take it. He put the glass to your lips and tilted your head back. You drank a tiny sip and it was enough for him to put it on the table. "Okay, we need to breathe. You're going kind of purple." He took one of your hands in his, and with the other he spread his palm and fingers out on your chest, over your lungs. "Y/N. Look at me." There was authority in his voice and your eyes flicked up to his. "Good. Alright. Breathe in, and hold it until I say." You breathed in, but couldn't do it in one fluent go. The air came into your lungs in little bursts. When Van said, you could breathe out in one go though. "Good. That's good. Alright, again." His hand pressing against your chest helped. The force of it pushing in, and releasing, it gave guidance. When your breathing sounded normal you could start to think again.

"I'm okay," you whispered. He smiled, taking your voice as a good sign.

"Alright. What happened?" It was a mistake to ask, because you thought about it again. The panic, held only at bay by Van's hand, washed back through you. You stood up and started to breathe hard again. You looked around, not sure what for. Van stood and moved to touch you, but you jumped back. You shook your head. "Okay. Not touching," he said and held his hands up to show you. You glanced up and couldn't focus. You felt dizzy. "Y/N. Can you sit?" he started to crouch on the ground. You let your legs buckle and came crashing to the floor. You backed up quickly into the corner. Van crawled to you, but kept his distance. You started to shake, and it gave him something to focus on. He got up and ran from the room, returning almost immediately with a blanket. He wrapped it around you, trying to not touch your skin. The soft material of the blanket was good, and you pulled it closer around you. "Baby, breathe," Van ordered again. You tried to nod. You closed your eyes and listened to him tell you when to inhale and exhale. It worked.

Van was on his knees and he was looking at you like you would break at any second; that you'd shatter into a million pieces if he looked away. You wanted him to hold your hand, but you didn't know how to make it happen. You couldn't speak, and your head was already resting on the cupboard heavy with chaotic thought. You tried to lift your arm but it didn't work. A small whining sound came from you involuntarily. Van shifted uncomfortable on his knees.

"Baby. I don’t know what you need. Can I… Can I just come closer?" He started to move painfully slowly to you. He put a hand on your knee. When you didn't react he pulled a hand from under the blanket and held it, like he could hear your thoughts. You started to rock and Van came a little closer. "Focus on this," he said and started to trace circles into the palm of your hand. It tickled. "Open your eyes and watch." You followed the instructions. The seconds turned to minutes and you lost track of how much time had passed.

When your back started to ache from the twisted position you'd contorted your body into, you knew the attack was over. You could feel your body again and focus on something other than the trigger. You sat up. Van hadn't stopped drawing on your hand the entire time, but his head had dropped. When you moved he started to watch you again. "Want to try standing?" he asked. You nodded. He held you by the waist and steadied you onto your feet. The blanket dropped from around you to the floor. You rolled your shoulders back and tried to get rid of some of the aching. You looked up at Van; he still looked at you like you were about to implode, or explode.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

"No! Baby. Not your fault. What…"

"You know how I told you I have panic attacks?" Van nodded. "That's what that was. I just… I've got this thing at uni and I freaked myself out. I'm okay."

"Okay. Can I do anything? Do you need anything?"

You sighed in awe, and wrapped your arms around his neck. He held you close and kissed the top of your head.

"You did good, Van. You're good."

A few days later, after the anxiety slowly reduced to its average level in you, and after the uni presentation was done, you sat down and explained the attacks to Van. You told him what to do - you need help with breathing, you need to be kept warm, sit on the floor, and drink water if you can - and what not to do - touching feels like fire at first, and talking about the trigger just makes it worse. He listened carefully and kissed you hard when you finished talking.

"We've got this," he said gently as you cuddled into him, ready to sleep for the night. You nodded into his side. He was right, between your self-care and his attentive love, you definitely were going to be alright.


End file.
